


Play With Fire and You'll Get Burned

by yoshizora



Series: Pre-Flamebringer [1]
Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 09:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13051662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Mòrag's youth and fury begets her strength. After seventy years, the Jewel of Mor Ardain is finally awakened by a new Driver.





	Play With Fire and You'll Get Burned

**Author's Note:**

> i was thinking a lot about the kind of person Mòrag was when she was younger and i like to imagine she used to be rather hot-blooded.... lmao. i assume in canon she's 25, same age as Zeke, so here she's 18-20.

The aftermath of the Gormotti War lingers even after three years of relative quietude for the scars to heal. But scars never do truly heal, and tensions are as high as ever in both Mor Ardain and Gormott.

The Emperor is dying. His children know it. The Senate knows it. Everyone knows it. Unhappy murmurs are passed around the Palace of how the throne would be passed onto a mere child whose voice is still high and lilted like a little songbird’s, who had never seen the grisly realities of politics and wars firsthand. Entrusting the fate of Mor Ardain to a boy is unthinkable.

Niall understands this, and feels the weight of all that pressure slowly crushing him day by day as his father creeps ever closer to death’s door.

“Seventy years…” The Emperor rumbles, and the court goes silent in reverence. Before him, upon a pedestal, rests a single Core Crystal. It looks to be no different from any other Core Crystal, but its glow is just a bit brighter like a flame grasping for air.

“Seventy years, since the Jewel of Mor Ardain has had a new Driver,” he says. He pauses for a moment for a coughing fit; there’s no point addressing that when it’s obvious enough what’s happening, so he continues. “Many have tried to awaken her during the Gormotti War, and none have succeeded. However… we cannot afford to fight again without her power. Gormott is ours, but for how long? How much longer will Mor Ardain last? I, too, am dying, alongside our Titan…”

The people of the court mutter amongst themselves. Niall stands beside the Emperor, back straight and shoulders stiff, but it’s clear to see the worry on his brow and the way his lips tremble. He’s just a boy, soon to lose his father and have the responsibilities of the throne thrust upon him.

“And so, today, I have gathered the Empire’s finest Drivers. We must call upon Lady Brighid’s power once more, for the sake of our country and its people.”

“Your Majesty!” One man steps forward. “Allow me—!”

Another speaks up. “No, I shall!”

“Only I can be the one!”

“Don’t forget me!”

Drivers, all accompanied by their Blades, shoulder and jostle each other as they somehow manage to form a line leading to the pedestal and the Core Crystal upon it. The Emperor looks to Niall with weary eyes, then to the girl who had been silently standing aside, unnoticed by anyone else.

Mòrag’s eyes are ablaze with quiet fury as she glares at the throng of Drivers. She says nothing.

“Lady Brighid will be mine!” The first man who had spoken picks up the Core Crystal. Almost instantly, he drops it and stumbles back, then collapses to the floor. Blood pours from his mouth and nose and ears and he gurgles in pain, clutching his throat as his eyes roll all the way back up in his head. The grisly sight, however, isn’t nearly enough to deter the rest of the waiting Drivers. If anything, they only seem to get more riled up.

One by one, each man takes the Core Crystal in his hands, and each one falls in a puddle of his own blood. Senators and nobles titter as soldiers drag the fallen Drivers away.

As it had always been, for the past seventy years, every time they had tried to awaken the Jewel of Mor Ardain.

Mòrag uncrosses her arms and delicately steps over a Driver writhing in pain. She bows to the Emperor. “Your Majesty…”

“Mòrag?”

“If I may.”

Niall shivers. He looks to the Emperor, and when he gets an affirming nod, he rushes to Mòrag’s side. “It's too risky! I won't allow it!”

She can feel the stares of the gathered Senators boring into her back. Their whispers are hardly whispers— Mòrag knows exactly what they say, of the late Lord Eandraig’s daughter, orphaned and taken in by her uncle the Emperor to someday become the Empress… before Niall had been born. And then what had she become? Just a young noblewoman who had lost her one purpose in life. Pitiful. So pitiful.

She knows what they say, and the flames of her fury only grow higher still. Both the Emperor and Niall can see it, plain as day.

“Just look at what had happened to the others who had tried!” Niall pleads, tugging at her sleeve. “All that blood…”

“I am not like _them_ ,” she says with utter contempt, earning glares from the few remaining Drivers who had yet to have their attempt. “Your Majesty. Please. Let me try.”

“Mòrag…” He closes his eyes and runs a hand over his chin, frowning deeply. “You have never even resonated with a Blade before. You are no Driver.”

“Lady Brighid shall be my first, then.”

Someone barks out laughter, but Mòrag keeps her eyes trained forward. “You surely don’t mean to grant the most powerful Blade of the Empire to one of these bullheaded fools?”

“That’s enough.” The emperor looks away. “…Very well. Go ahead, then. I cannot stop you.”

“Father!” Niall turns to him. “Don’t let her, please! Mòrag—!”

But Mòrag’s fury is reaching heights that cannot even be seen from the earth. She gently pries Niall off of her arm and smiles to him. “I would like your confidence as well. Please, Niall.”

“Go on then, _girl!_ ” One of the waiting Drivers sneers at her. “Play with fire and you'll get burned. Show us what you’ve got, with all that pompous air!”

The Senators all fall silent at last. Mòrag slowly approaches the pedestal, glancing at the Emperor one last time with her hand suspended over the Core Crystal. He closes his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, and tilts his head upward.

Mòrag grabs the Core Crystal.

It’s as if she’d grabbed a live flame. The heat shoots up her arm and through the rest of her body in an instant. It's as though her bones would become ashes, but oddly enough, there is no real pain. She’s being consumed alive by a fire and there is no pain. She staggers, fingers still tightly wrapped around the Core Crystal, and slowly brings it up to her chest, over her heart. The burning sensation only becomes more intense with each passing second, an eternity of being consumed by hellfire. Dimly, Mòrag is aware of Niall calling out her name. He sounds so far away. Brilliant azure flames dance in her vision, blinding her.

Then it’s all over. She’s no longer holding a Core Crystal, but a sword.

“… May I have the pleasure?”

Before her, the most beautiful woman she had ever seen holds an identical second sword. She offers it to Mòrag and she automatically takes it in her other hand, the flames still lingering in the corners of her eyes and the tips of her fingers.

The Emperor is standing up now, mouth hanging open in a manner unbefitting of Mor Ardain’s ruler. The room is deathly silent, and Mòrag can hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears like thunder.

Overwhelmed, she kneels before Brighid, head bowed.

“My name is Mòrag Ladair. I am your Driver.”

 

* * *

 

There’s always been a traditional procedure whenever Brighid is awakened. The Emperor takes her aside to speak to her, give her her journal, allow her time to read it over and digest everything that’s always been a part of who she was. Mòrag waits in her quarters with Niall, who hasn’t let go of her arm since then.

“I’m sorry for making you worry.”

“I just… didn’t want to see you all bloodied up, like the rest of those who tried.”

Niall squeezes his eyes shut and hugs her tightly. It’s moments like this that reminds Mòrag that her brother is still a child beyond all his polished formalities. She strokes his hair and kisses his forehead. “You needn’t be afraid, Niall. Not anymore. I’ll have Lady Brighid by my side from now on, and I will always be by yours.”

There’s a knock at the door, which had been left open. Brighid is with the Emperor, regarding Mòrag with a sort of gentle curiosity.

“Niall, come. We have other matters to discuss now. We'll leave you two, Mòrag, Lady Brighid.” The Emperor motions to Niall, and he reluctantly detaches himself from Mòrag and follows after him.

They’re alone now. Mòrag swallows the nervous lump in her throat ( _why is she even nervous?_ ) and bows her head. “Lady Brighid. It is an honor.”

“You’re so _young,_ ” Brighid says. She enters the room, stopping a few paces away from Mòrag. “How old are you?”

“I will be turning nineteen come the turn of the season.”

“Hm.”

She isn’t sure if that’s a disappointed hum or not. Suddenly, Mòrag feels like a fool for being anxious in front of her own Blade. Jewel of Mor Ardain or not, she’s _Brighid’s_ Driver now. “Worry not. My age does not beget inexperience. I will be a Driver worthy of your strength, Lady Brighid, I can promise you that.”

“Just call me Brighid. The Emperor explained your situation to me. You have the makings of a ruler, and yet…”

Mòrag squares her shoulders. “I will continue to serve the Empire, regardless of my status or title.”

“Well said. I quite like your attitude.”

She goes completely still as Brighid approaches her. It’s difficult to tell what she’s thinking with her eyes closed, but Mòrag has a feeling that she wouldn’t be able to read her regardless of whether or not she could see her eyes or not.

“I can sense a great deal of power within you, Mòrag Ladair.” She takes Mòrag’s face in both hands, tilting her head upwards to look at her properly. “Your flames… are wild. There are still many things for you to learn.”

“I am… wild?”

“Untamed. You must learn to control your potential.”

Mòrag sets her jaw and tries to pull her face out of Brighid’s grasp. “I _have_ been learning, ever since I was a child, always diligent to my studies and training—“

“Oh, yes, I don’t doubt that. You’re the first person to awaken me after… how long has it been, seventy years? Even those men with decades of experience fighting alongside Blades couldn’t manage such a feat. And yet look at you, a young woman who has never even been to war, now _my_ Driver.”

She draws her swords and holds them out for Mòrag to take. “You need to _learn._ ”

 

* * *

 

Her fire burns, just like those imaginary flames that had scorched through Mòrag’s entire being during the resonance. Sweat drips down the back of her neck and makes her palms slick, making it difficult to keep a secure grip on the sword.

“Once more!”

Obligingly, she darts forward and strikes at Brighid again. Brighid effortlessly parries the blade aside with her own and stops it just short of Mòrag’s neck.

Mòrag’s never felt so inept.

“ _LADAIR_.” A voice bellows through the training grounds. Both Mòrag and Brighid pause, and turn. It’s one of the Drivers from the courtroom, one of the few who hadn’t had a turn to try awakening Brighid. Three other Drivers and their Blades trail behind him, menacingly glowering at Mòrag. “Remember what I said? Play with fire and you’ll get burned, _girl._ ”

“Do you have some sort of business with me?” Mòrag wipes at her face with a towel Brighid offers to her, not even bothering with making eye contact with any of them, like they're not important enough for that kind of acknowledgment. “If not, then leave. I don’t have time for your nonsense.”

“Nonsense?! Hah! Hear that! The girl thinks she’s better than the rest of us! Just because she’s Lady Brighid’s Driver now!” He huffs through clenched teeth. “ _Lady Brighid should’ve been my Blade._ ”

Mòrag slowly lowers the towel, her fury beginning to bare its fangs. Brighid senses this, but says nothing. “Is that so?”

“Having the most powerful Blade in the Empire means nothing if you can’t even control her properly! You think you’ve got what it takes?!” He wildly gestures, spittle flying from his mouth. “Lady Brighid! I beseech you, come to my side instead! I am _strong._ ”

Brighid’s mouth curls in disgust. “No.”

“Wha—“

“You think being _strong_ is all there is to it?” Brighid pushes her swords to Mòrag’s hands, knowing what's about to come next. “If that’s what you think, then you would have died the second you picked up my Core Crystal.”

All four Drivers suddenly draw their weapons, their Blades at the ready behind them. “We’re amongst the strongest Drivers in Mor Ardain! Think you can take us all on with your fancy words?!”

Mòrag’s hands are still sweaty, but her fury is at full force now, roaring and thrashing at iron bars behind that cold glare. The whipswords burst into flames and they _burn_ , but she shows no sign of faltering. Brighid knows that she should put a stop to this, but…

A chance to see that fury unleashed? She must admit, she would like to see what her new Driver is truly capable of.

“Come, then!” Mòrag beckons. “All of you! Show me what the finest Drivers in the Empire has to offer!”

 

* * *

 

The training grounds is a desolate pit of ashes and charred dirt by the end of the fight. Mòrag stands amidst the fallen Drivers and their unconscious Blades, panting hard, her swords still ablaze with blue flames.

She’s burned. Brighid can see the angry red patches of skin on her exposed arms and hands.

“Mòrag…”

“My… apologies,” she breathes. “I should not have been provoked so easily…”

Brighid says nothing.

“Perhaps…” Mòrag stumbles away from her defeated opponents, headed for anywhere, just to get away from the ugly sight of the razed grounds. Brighid follows. “Perhaps I am not worthy. He was right. Playing with fire is a dangerous thing.”

She laughs to herself, and continues. “Frankly, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve always wanted to be strong. For myself, yes, but for my country as well. It’s been like that my entire life. What else was there to march towards? A life of luxury secured in the upper class politics? No, everything I’ve done, everything I do, it’s for…”

“Mor Ardain?”

“For my brother, and my father. For my countrymen.” Mòrag leans against a wall once they’re inside the Palace, and closes her eyes. “Even for those fools who sought to take you from me. They’re Ardainian as well, are they not? All I did was beat some sense into them, in my defense.”

“Yes, you certainly did. They won’t be bothering us ever again, I suspect.” Brighid folds her arms. She’s only known Mòrag for less than a day, and yet she can already feel a great fondness for her welling up within her chest. Maybe it’s just the natural bond between Driver and Blade, or... “You’re still young, Mòrag. Be grateful. You have many years ahead of you to temper your own flames and learn to control mine. If anything, I’d say I should strive to be worthy of _you._ ”

Mòrag is quiet for a long moment, then looks down at her burns. “Will these leave marks, you suppose?”

“No, I don’t think they will.”

“Good.” She weakly smiles. “I’m not particularly fond of scars.”

 

* * *

 

The Emperor of Mor Ardain passes away roughly a year later. Peacefully in his sleep, no pain at all, the doctor had said. A great deal of ceremony is made for his burial, but Mòrag isn’t sure if she can endure it all in spite of her deep respect for Ardainian tradition.

Niall is upon the throne the next day. He somehow looks much more aged now, tired and sad. There’s a new Blade by his side, Aegaeon, a man of quiet disposition.

The Emperor's children have come a long, long way since their days in that little village in Gormott, before the war ever happened and before Brighid was awakened. Mòrag, too, feels the effects of age upon her despite only being a lick over twenty, her fury declawed but fangs still sharp. She no longer carries burns beneath her sleeves. The Drivers she had defeated back at the training grounds spread a new name for her without any sort of prompting from her part—  _Flamebringer_ — spinning tales of her terrifying strength and ability to burn all that’s around her into ashes.

At last, she feels worthy of Brighid. She feels worthy to claim the title of Mor Ardain’s most powerful Driver.

The accolade takes place a week after Niall is crowned. Mòrag sheds her old self to become Special Inquisitor, and no longer addresses the new Emperor by name.

They’ve truly come a long, long way.

“The uniform suits you well, Lady Mòrag.” Brighid says as they’re alone in her room.

“Thank you, Brighid,” Mòrag nods. She adjusts the cuffs and puts on the gloves, turning to the mirror. Special Inquisitor Mòrag, Flamebringer. She never asked for power, only strength to protect those who needed it. In that regard, she’s relieved that the person she sees in the mirror isn’t a complete stranger.

“ _Play with fire and you’ll get burned_ ,” Brighid recites. “You’ve already learned a great deal since then.”

“But it will never be enough,” Mòrag says, curling and uncurling her fist, feeling the unfamiliar fabric of the glove against her skin. “This… will never be enough. Not until Mor Ardain’s future is secured.”

“Hear, hear.”

She tries to imagine what the late Emperor would say if she spoke to him now, about all her worries for the country and for Niall. What he would say if he saw her in this uniform, understanding that she’s now Niall’s retainer first and foremost before his sister. What he would say if he saw that Brighid was still by her side after all the doubts and challenges they’ve faced from Drivers trying to challenge their rumored power.

“He would be so proud of you.”

Mòrag softly exhales. “You’ve become particularly adept at reading my thoughts.”

“I would hope so. I am _your_ Blade.”

And her flames no longer burn Mòrag. She places the hat upon her head for the first time, running her fingers along the metal visor, and takes a deep breath. “Come. His Majesty has many things to talk to us about.”


End file.
